The Dog's Reflection
by Sambucivox
Summary: Set in the Kuroshitsuji movie world, a one-shot exploring the complex power dynamics between Sebastian and his new lord from childhood to corruption.


One spring Sunday, twelve years ago, Shiori tripped in the garden and scratched her knees so badly that she could barely walk without feeling the skin of her shins and thighs stretching to breaking point. She had given up after three tries, and fallen down back to the cold earth. The lace of her carnation skirt was muddy and bloodstained, and she had patiently waited for someone, anyone, to find her. It had seemed like hours, and as the sun paled she had started to panic. What if nobody found her, and she had to spend the night in the garden? She felt her chest tighten, and her breath caught on her throat like a thorny climbing rose.

She banged on the floor with both her hands because she could not shout out for help, and felt the earth penetrate her nails. Her palms turned to black. And just as the scimitar moon raised, Sebastian, her father's dog, found her. He sniffed the air; paws set in a fighting posture, and barked where she could not scream. He licked her bruised legs and nuzzled her throat until she could catch her breath, and then laid down on her fanned, ruined skirt, and kept her warm until the grownups arrived.

Sebastian the dog had been killed many years ago, and the grownups days had been counted long before her fall. Now she could only count (almost always, almost everywhere) on Sebastian the butler. Shiori knew that Sebastian the butler had served her family for generations, starting with her great-grandfather Ciel, whose portrait she had traced with her fingertips. Ciel's skin had been paper white, and his eyes had been round, but they had the same full lips, the same stubborn chin and the same skinny limbs. Exploring the old wing, she'd stumbled upon a full antique bathroom set, complete with a clawed bath. She turned the golden taps, almost expecting the water to fill the basin, but it only coughed bronze dust.

"It could be installed in your rooms, instead of your shower," Sebastian had said, standing right behind her in the shadows. Shiori had not heard him come in.

"An old bath like this one would be a complete waste of water," she'd said, paying close attention to Sebastian's steps this time. She could barely hear the soft brushes of his suit. "Not to mention time. I barely have time to memorize the syllabus for my A levels, keep Funtom afloat and defend the Queen's interests in this forsaken continent," she turned the tap to the left, but the dust still floated in the air, and she could feel it tickling her nose, teasing her lungs.

"As you wish," Sebastian said. Shiori sneezed "Let me take you back to bed. It is late, and you need to renew your energy for all those commendable tasks," and he took her hand, holding it between his thumb and his palm, and drew her back to her rooms in the dark corridors. Sebastian the butler, just like Sebastian the dog, did not need light to find the way.

And yet, the night after she took her A levels, she'd found the old bath installed in the centre of her room, directly in front of her bed. The golden claws shone, and Sebastian had filled the basin with warm water. She pressed her lips.

"You wished for it," he simply said when Shiori set her jaw, even before she could scold him. "My mistress' wishes are orders for this humble butler," he swiftly helped her out of her blazer, and Shiori let him out of custom. She approached the bath, making sure that she kept her head straight and her mouth tense.

"Why is there a teapot on the side table? It is too late for tea," she said, "And I am exhausted,"

"Please, allow me," he said, holding the teapot. A stream of steaming water, interspersed with rough mauve balls, poured into the water. One by one, the balls bloomed into flowers.

Some of them floated to the surface like lily pads, others covered the bottom of the basin, creating a bed of ghostly blossoms. Shiori dipped her hand in the water, and held it up, letting the drops soak her sleeve. Sebastian placed the teapot on its stand and swiftly moved behind her, unknotting her tie, folding the silk garment aside and unlocking the leather braces from her waistband. She could feel his gloved fingers on her clothes, but reacting to them now would be akin to admitting – _what? desire? fear?_ – weakness, so she stood very still, and let him carefully undress her. He unfastened the nacre buttons of her oversized poplin shirt with his left hand, and the horn buttons of her winter trousers with his right hand, and they slid off her hips with a woollen sigh. Shiori stepped out of them and away from Sebastian. She sat on a stool and raised her leg. Sebastian knelt, placing her ankle across his thigh, and unlaced her boots. She watched him work behind her eyelashes, allowing herself to take in the scent of Sebastian's spectral flowers. As soon as her socks were off, she stood up again.

"You may leave me now," she said. Sebastian stood up too, taking with him her dirty clothes, and bowed deeply, until his eyes were in line with hers, and his murdering mouth just a few inches away. "Yes, my lord," he whispered. "I will be back in half an hour to dry you properly, and put you to bed,"

"No," Shiori said. "You will not come. I am done with you for the day," Sebastian tilted his head, and barely smiled. "And tomorrow, you will get this... thing... out of my room. It takes up too much space,"

"Yes, master," Sebastian said. He closed the door behind him, and only then Shiori shed her undershirt and her boxers and stepped into the bath. She played with the flowers, braiding a tiara that she wore on her head, and only got out when the water was cold. She opened her closet door and looked at her reflection in the mirror, dripping blossoms crowning a solemn face, a severe mouth, and goosebumps adorning her childish body. She went to bed still wet, to spite Sebastian in the morning, but only managed to make a mess in the pillow with the dead flowers.

That had been five years ago. Now her body was taking up too much space, her skin pulling uncomfortable in all the wrong places. Sebastian helped her bind her chest tightly every morning, and to shade shadows of manliness on her throat and her jaw with a broad black brush. They barely spoke, although Shiori sometimes glanced at reflective surfaces when they walked by. Sebastian was there at dawn and at midnight, always attentive, waiting on her, bringing her sweets with her tea, and of lately, savagely terminating her enemies with improbable cutlery. Last afternoon, he'd popped out the heart of a mob madam with a corkscrew, and presented it as a proof of his completed task inside a carved wine glass. It had put Shiori off her desire of tasting alcohol.

Deep in her heart she knew that whatever Sebastian did, it would always be a reflection of who she was, of what she wanted, and she flirted with the idea of being horrified at the modus operandi of his last execution – but on the other hand, that woman had had it coming. Shiori had seen the pictures of the brothel she ran, and had touched the spikes of her adult toys – which she had managed to manufacture in one of Funtom's factories –unspeakably rude, as Shiori had been looking forward to her majority to develop that particular line, for responsible customers, of courses.

"Sebastian," she said while he cut her hair, one strand of camouflage at a time.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Please refrain from bloody displays in the future," snip went the scissor, right behind her ear. "Paparazzi are everywhere. What would they think if they snapped a picture of a beating heart on my dinner table?"

Sebastian rested the scissor blades on the nook of Shiori's neck, and she barely restrained a shiver. "They would not think anything that they are not thinking already, my lord," he produced a silver hand mirror and straightened the chair where she was sitting. The scissors bit into her skin. "What do you think? Is this appropriately masculine, or should I cut some more?"

She stared at the mirror, the reflections of both of them eternal and immovable. Sebastian's eyes shone like garnets, and Shiori wondered, not for the first time, how it would be to set them in flames, and to have his black nails scratch her skin, asking for mercy, leaving the heat of coal in their wake. She lifted her eye patch, so that the band pulled her hair off her front, and tore the white sheet that he had used to keep stray hairs away from her neck. A rivulet of blood went with it, and dripped into her shirt.

"The haircut is fine," she said, "but you made a mess, as you have been doing lately" she touched the cut with her fingertip, and showed the red stain to him. "I order you to clean it,"

"Yes, my Lord,"

Sebastian cut her stained shirt with the scissors, and put it aside.

"Now I'm cold," Shiori complained.

"The undershirt is stained, too," Sebastian said, cutting its straps. Shiori pressed it tightly to her chest. Sebastian took a handkerchief, and cleaned the warm drops of blood that kept running on her skin. "I am terribly sorry, my lord," he gently coaxed her arms away from her body, so that he could take off the undershirt. "Please, accept my apologies," he said, pressing the cloth directly on the cut. He had high cheekbones, and right now, a kind smile on his lips. "I never wanted you to get accidentally hurt,"

Over the years, Sebastian had played all the roles that Shiori needed him to. He had been a considerate nanny, a competent teacher, and an excellent ally. He had been her father and her mother, her colleague and her servant, and the danger that kept her on her toes. He was a constant reminder of her solitude, of her isolation from any other source of humanity, of the distance that she had to put between her recent desire to touch other people and the desolation that she would leave behind when Sebastian kissed her for the last time. She would not be as lucky as her ancestor, who had at least married a loving woman. She could not allow herself to take a lover, ever, lest he or she shared her secret with the world, or worse, should he or she love her truly.

"Sebastian," she said, "The bindings are ruined," she turned around, exposing her back to him. "Fix them,"

"Yes, my lord," Sebastian said, taking her place in the hairdressing chair and pulling her on his lap. She looked in the mirror at Sebastian ungloving his hands, at his nails tracing the double snake on her right shoulder, at his too-white teeth bared, ready to pounce, and then sighed when he removed the first layer of bindings that constricted her breasts. She felt the throbbing of the straight, red marks that the bandages had imprinted on her skin.

She was still holding the handkerchief against her neck with her right hand when Sebastian took her other wrist, and guided it under her navel, placing her fingers on her pelvis like he had placed them on the violin for years. Shiori let him set the rhythm. He dipped her head down on the table, inches away from the scissors that had shed her blood without breaking the entanglement. "My poor lord," he whispered. "It must hurt so much," Shiori took a breath, and the climbing rose of her asthma strangled her just as pleasure warmed her pelvis, even when their fingers, still entangled, slithered inside. She could not moan. She could only focus on Sebastian's mirror twin softly licking the marks on her back, one by one, to relieve the soreness. His tongue spelled ruination. "Your wishes are orders to me," he teased, "I will clean you to your heart's content," she tried breathing again, and failed "and when you are ready, I will take to bed,"

Shiori could not take a lover, but she had so wished for a dog.


End file.
